No Reason to Be Confused
by LitRaptor42
Summary: Immensely fluffy fun with Crimeans. New chapter, finally! More romping Royal Knights fun with the Hero of Crimea and his Squinty Archrival.
1. Back in Melior

Ever since I read Return of the King for the first time, I've always wanted to use the word "biouvacked" in a piece about cavalry.

Um yeah I still haven't managed to work that one in. But here (FINALLY) are some romps with Oscar and Kieran... WHERE KIERAN IS OBNOXIOUS AND LOUD :D

Original characters are from "Back in the Knights". I tried to make them minor players this time. Everything else I don't own, naturally, because it belongs to Nintendo. Woe.

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It took me a good thirty seconds to realize where I was upon awakening. It was too dark, for one thing. By no doing of my own, I always woke up at dawn: but I couldn't see anything but dark folds of fabric on all four sides.

Then the night before came back to me, and I shivered, sitting up quickly to throw back the bed curtains. Ugh, yes, there it all was. The expansive marble floors gleamed in the dim morning light, while the vaulted second-floor windows gave a very private view of the sparring courtyard. There was a privy closet (with a curtain, no less), and the arched walls soared up to a dizzyingly high ceiling... no, I certainly hadn't dreamed last night.

A promotion. The goddess only knew why. We'd all expected to return in shame and total disgrace to the capital, nursing newly-healed wounds and slinking to the lowest beds in the barracks. But lo! our queen had greeted us at the door, calling each of us by name. It was a good thing I'd already been kneeling when she had informed me of my promotion to general, telling me that Erk was to replace me as captain of Fifth Platoon: otherwise I might've fallen down in shock. I'd blankly allowed myself to be escorted to a new and much more magnificent room than ever, barely thinking about where the other knights had gone, or where the Mercenaries had suddenly disappeared to.

I yawned, going over to the window to look out. It was a beautiful morning, if still somewhat grey and cold: the courtyard was still empty. I shivered as a breeze blew in the window - I wasn't wearing anything yet - and went back over towards the bed to find trousers.

Probably the most exorbitantly unnecessary part of the whole room was the mirror. I paused by it for a moment, wondering why on earth someone would ever think I needed something like this: it was a five-foot-tall monstrosity, standing in a wooden frame next to the bed. Perhaps in the past other generals had felt a need to ogle themselves every morning.

I eyed my reflection, not a little uncomfortably. I'd never owned a mirror in my life, and the occasional glimpses of myself that I caught in panes of glass and on water surfaces hadn't really convinced me that it was anything to bother about. It wasn't as if I were hideous, at least. Tall, with good muscle tone and pretty good shape, if with messy hair... the face wasn't much to look at when I was angry, though. I frowned at my reflection, startled at just how stern I looked. Perhaps that was why Erk said I frightened all the new recruits.

No, it wasn't that, either. I just knew... every time I crossed the room I would think I saw someone else. And I would probably end up punching the mirror at least once in the bleary early morning hours. I sighed, irritated.

This was intolerable. There was no chance I would be getting back to sleep now, and the queen had given no indication as to when the promotion would take place. Not that I wasn't eager: in all seriousness, I only hoped I could keep my wits about me when all my dreams suddenly came true. But I was uneasy to find out what had conspired that led to me getting promoted... rather than demoted, like I'd thought would happen.

I suddenly noticed that someone had left a mug and a pot of what was probably coffee on the desk. I wrinkled my nose, going over to it: I'd resigned myself long ago to putting up with having servants. It was just something officers had to do. Still... I might as well take advantage of it, I thought resignedly, and poured myself a cup.

Its bitter taste cleared away any of my remaining bleariness, and I crossed back to the window once more. The sun was starting to come up a little, and I felt good... quite strong. It had been a major relief the night before last, to find that I hadn't died, of course, but the ride back yesterday had been unnaturally tiring. A night's sleep in a comfortable bed had done me a lot more good that I liked to admit.

I had just finished taking a drink of coffee, and was leaned over, resting my elbows on the sill, when a very cold pair of arms wrapped themselves around my midsection. Instinctively, even as I inhaled in a squeak at the indignation of cold armor against my naked skin, I jerked my arm back to elbow whoever it was in the stomach. My coffee went flying, brown liquid exploding as the mug clanged down to the floor.

Unfortunately, they were wearing armor there, too, and even as they let go with an "oof!" I gasped and clutched my elbow, eyes watering in pain. My startlement melted away, though - even as my annoyance grew - at the sound of laughter behind me.

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	2. Kieran Doesn't Stay Angry for Long

A/N: Teehee. Hee hee hee. ^_^ Chapter Three is forthcoming with more antics.

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"No need to get so defensive," Oscar said, laughing and holding his hand over his stomach. "Ow."

"You-" I choked out, then glared at him, still clutching my throbbing elbow. "How did you get in here?"

He just looked at me for a moment, then poked a thumb over his shoulder, at the door. "Um, it wasn't locked."

"So you just walked in?" I yelled, more annoyed that he'd caught me off guard than at anything else. Then I realized I still wasn't wearing anything, and yelped, grabbing out. The curtain was the only convenient form of fabric, and I yanked it in front of me. He started laughing again, and I glared some more.

"Kieran," he said, "it's not exactly like I've never seen you naked."

"It... it was always dark, you squinty fool!"

He shook his head and went over to the bed, still chuckling. I managed to accept my trousers with a negligible amount of grace, and put them on. "Well, I'm sorry I startled you. I suppose I should've known you'd be jumpy." He looked around, admiring the room. I was huffily pulling my shirt over my head, and only halfway heard him ask, "... like your room?"

"No," I snapped, rummaging under the bed for my boots. "Too fancy."

If he were anyone else I would've said his eyes widened in mock surprise. "Too fancy? What happened, did you change your mind about all the fame and glory you wanted to get in the Knights?"

I finally lost my temper. "What do you want?" I yelled. "What'd you come in here for, just to make fun of me?"

That took him aback, and he shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd come in and keep you company." He looked down at the coffee, and I felt my face reddening. "I didn't think you'd be sleeping, either."

I muttered something, embarrassed, and pulled my boots on. Then I looked up and noticed for the first time that Oscar wasn't wearing his old green armor. "What... what in the name of Ashera is that?" It was still green, but a different color: it shone, almost shimmered in the morning light, and was of a much more modern design that his own armor.

He looked down, face changing; for a fleeting moment his expression reminded me of how I'd felt yesterday. "Oh, this. Eh... you'll be getting yours later." He rubbed at a spot low on the breastplate - where my elbow had whacked into it - and added, "It doesn't fit as well as my old stuff, but I suppose it's shini-"

My mind had somehow drawn an instant connection between the newness of the armor and something about me getting mine later. "You got promoted, too?" I interrupted, half-horrified and secretly half-elated, and leapt up. "Did the queen tell you why? I haven't figured it out! I mean," I said, pacing back and forth, trousers still unbuttoned and one boot still in my hand, "half of us died and the rest of us didn't do anything particularly good, except maybe you and Erk, but it was a complete disaster..."

As I paused to draw a breath he jumped in. "Kieran. Kieran, I didn't get promoted. Calm down."

I stopped. He didn't look particularly put out - but then when did Oscar ever look particularly upset about anything? He was just half-smiling, waiting for me to burst out. "But... you didn't...no promotion?"

"No, why would I get one?"

I could feel my shoulders slumping; I was suddenly annoyed by his nonchalance, and did burst out. "Because you... I don't know! Why aren't you upset about this? I don't even know why I got promoted, I practically died, you had to do everything!"

"No, I didn't," he said, patiently, and came over to me, finally. He was wearing gloves, but his touch was warm on my arm. "Look, be happy. Things could have gone a lot worse. As for why you and not me, Elincia was probably proud we did our mission, and that the rebels followed us all the way back here."

That part made sense, but... "But why aren't you upset?" I cried, frustrated. I wondered if my face was as angry as it had been earlier, when I had been making faces at myself. Undoubtedly. "Don't you want to move up in the world? Get recognized for your success?"

My angry faces had never appeared to have any effect on Oscar, and they certainly didn't now. "Sure," he answered after a moment, shrugging. "Don't you remember, though? I've told you before... it's not my first priority. And it's up to Elincia anyway. Surely you have enough respect for her to realize when she knows best."

I gaped at him in a horror for a moment, about to loudly and vehemently deny that her Majesty could ever be wrong about anything. Then I realized he was trying not to grin. I closed my mouth, then narrowed my eyes at him. "That... that was a cheap shot."

"Yes," he admitted, finally laughing. "I know you. Come on, let's stop talking about it." To my surprise, reaching down, he started unbuckling his armor. "I am happy, though, that for once you remember me doing something right."

"What are you doing?" I couldn't keep the indignation out of my voice as he slid the armor under my bed one piece at a time. "What..."

"Oh, come on," he said again. I was still standing crookedly, one boot dangling from my fingers, and my mouth dropped when he started unbuttoning his shirt. "No one's coming for you for awhile, I'm sure. It's barely past dawn." He took a look at my face and added sternly, "Don't you start yelling. You are getting into that bed with me, and that's final."

A sort of panic was building, and I looked wildly at the door. "But... someone might come in!" I drew myself up with as much dignity as I could muster and added, "If I'm getting promoted this afternoon, I don't want to be thought... weak!"

"Everyone already knows, and anyway, I locked the door behind me," he said, quite cheerfully, as he pulled his shirt off. I gulped. "Though I appreciate, once again, that your objections are to someone walking in on us, rather than the proposition itself."

"Everyone... already knows?" I repeated, somewhat faintly.

"Yeah, it's all over the castle." He sounded far too happy about this: I thought that quite unfair, since my heart (along with my elbow and other parts of me) was throbbing. "See, you were kind of dying, and I kind of... kissed you in front of everyone else."

I goggled at him. "What!?" I screamed furiously, and threw my boot at him.

He ducked, though it still caught him on the shoulder. "Ow! Hey, give me a break!" he exclaimed, but good-naturedly. I fumed, unable to speak for my fury. "That was about a day after you tried to say good-bye to me, and told me you loved me. I was in a state of panic."

"Well I was delirious!" I roared at him, forgetting that everyone in this half of the castle could probably hear me. "That's... that's taking advantage of your unconscious commander! Don't pull down your pants, I'm angry with you!"

He stopped, thumbs hooked in his beltloops. Damn him! How did he manage to look so pitifully mournful, yet at the same time completely irresistible? "Well, I'm sorry. Do you want me to go, then?"

"No!" I yelled, my arms exploding outwards. Confusion overtook me, but I couldn't see any way out of this argument other than to keep yelling. "I just can't believe you..."

Suddenly he was right there, face closer than ever, arms wrapped around my middle. I couldn't speak as he fastened his mouth on mine. As he moved back, I demanded breathlessly, "Don't I even get... a say in any of this?"

"You're always getting a say in things," he said firmly. "So no. Shut up."

I couldn't really think of any way to argue back.

* * *


	3. Across the Courtyard

Oh, dear goddess, I love this pairing so much, probably as much as OscarxKieran. As far as stubborn insistence upon pairings goes, I actually will defend this one before GeoffreyxElincia or even IkexSoren. Anyway... it's fluffy! :-D

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X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

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She rolled over lazily to face him, features half-buried in red hair. "I wonder," she finally said, somewhat thoughtfully, if a bit muffled, her eyes still closed, "if anyone knows I'm here."

He couldn't help but smile. Having been awake for some time, he'd been watching her rouse little by little from slumber, face at first dreaming and peaceful, then stern and annoyed as she began to wake, and finally blissfully, lazily conscious. "Probably not. And if they did, no one would care. After all, everyone's known about us for how long?"

One of her shoulders raised in an infinitesimal shrug, graceful and white as the comforter slid from it. "Years," she murmured, voice like honey. Unable to stop himself, Rhys raised himself on one elbow and kissed the shoulder; as Titania shivered in obvious delight, he pulled the down comforter up over her bare skin. There was a vague sound from the courtyard outside; to him it sounded vaguely like someone's voice, upraised, perhaps arguing. Titania didn't appear to notice; warm all over once more, she snuggled closer. "Mmm. We don't have to get up anytime soon, do we?"

"No," he answered. Though she still hadn't opened her eyes, there was a curve to the corner of her mouth that he recognized, and her tone was unmistakable. "No, I doubt we'll be called for any earlier than noon. The Queen mentioned last night that she'd be holding promotions for the Knights around that time, and I'm not sure we rank any higher on that list."

"Good," she whispered, still half-asleep but in that dangerous state where rational thought was quite impossible. She'd been more than rational last night, Rhys reflected: nervous, actually. Having escorted a quarter of a platoon (most of them recuperating from serious injuries) back to Melior, the Greil Mercenaries were going to be thrown into profile once more. Nothing, in his experience, ever made Titania more upset than having the Mercenaries take the spotlight on the Crimean stage; like Greil, she wanted only to help people, and becoming heroes was not necessarily part of that deal.

Of course, he reflected distantly as she began to nuzzle even closer, warm, sleepy hands descending, Greil's motivations for being contra-popular had been totally different. He'd been in hiding, for one, trying to avoid the detection of Daein; beyond that, his daughter had been in custody of an extremely dangerous and closely sought medallion that could instantly turn anyone who touched it into a madman. Those were quite specific reasons for trying to evade the Crimean royalty's (or indeed, the general population's) high attentions…

Rhys gasped suddenly as her hands went lower than he'd expected, and as they did something even more unexpected, he made an even less dignified sound. "Do you really want," her husky, dreamy voice said, "everyone in the castle to know I'm here?"

Finally, he managed to reply, "N-no…but if you…" He felt himself dissolving somewhat as her lips descended on his, and that was all he could think of for a moment.

Abruptly both of them started, away from one another, as an outrageously loud bellow came from somewhere in the courtyard. Rhys felt his hair stand on end, convinced momentarily that someone had fallen out of a window, that the bandits had somehow penetrated Melior's outer defences, or that someone had decided to fight an early-morning duel and had been stabbed. Then another voice, raised in self-defensive protest, followed, along with another yell of anger.

He felt Titania relax at the same time as he himself realized who and what it must be, and her body shivered briefly with a soft giggle. "The goddess," he said faintly, "can't he even shut up this early in the morning?"

"I sincerely doubt it." She sounded much more awake now, and as she sighed, moving her hands back to his hips, he realized her intimate mood had been totally shattered by Kieran's vocal intrusion. It was probably just as well, Rhys reflected; though he could think of nothing more pleasant than another hour's fooling about, what he really wanted to do with Titania was talk.

"Well, at least we can happily know that he and Oscar are on the mend," he said. "If they're bickering like an old couple, which, by all accounts, it seems as if they are doing, then at least Kieran's got his verve back." Another few words were discernible, wafting through the courtyard; then suddenly silence reigned, breathless. Rhys couldn't help but laugh out loud. "And I'm willing to bet that Oscar just got the upper hand, as usual."

Titania's head shook against the pillow, her face buried in its downy fluff. "Those two. I missed them." Then she looked up, frowning a bit. "I wonder…" Blushing, she asked, "You and I both knew about them. Practically everyone in the Mercenaries did. I'm willing to bet that most of Fifth Platoon did, too."

"Hard to imagine that they didn't," Rhys murmured. "Kieran being so subtle and all."

She snorted, but he noticed that she wasn't as entertained as she usually would have been. And she was still blushing. "Delightfully so. I wonder, though… you say that everyone has known about you and I for a long time, too. Doesn't that… bother you?"

Rhys closed his eyes, wondering alongside her. Did it bother him? He knew why she had asked: the situation was somewhat comparable. Oscar, of course, didn't mind everyone knowing; he liked everyone, and they all liked him. But Kieran, oblivious to how obvious he was, probably still didn't know how many of the Mercenaries had (highly entertained but still respectful) given the two knights privacy for their "archrival" relationship. Rhys, having spent more hours healing the cavalier's gaping wounds and making sure he didn't split his head open, had gathered just enough information to know just how much it _would_ bother Kieran to find that out.

Similarly, it probably bothered Titania that everyone knew. She was a terribly private person, if for completely different reasons than Kieran. On top of that, she still struggled daily with her former love, unfulfilled for close to ten years. But as for himself… "No," he finally answered. "No, it doesn't bother me if anyone knows. I mean, what would they say? Clearly it hasn't affected either of us negatively."

"But it doesn't bother you that we can't be… I don't know… affectionate around others?" she asked, somewhat hesitantly.

Surprised, he replied, "Who says we can't?" He himself had never been quite clear on that subject: but sensing that she would rather keep their relationship private, for one reason or another, he'd never made public overtures. Now that she was asking, though, it seemed sort of silly: which of the Mercenaries cared one way or the other if they slept together? Sure, he was a bit younger, but…

She, too, was clearly taken aback. "Well," she began, then frowned. He knew that she was trying to put on a casual face, but that his question had struck a nerve. Her face changed several times, too quickly for him to read its emotions. The sun was just beginning to illuminate the rest of the room; since they were on the east side of the courtyard, its rays didn't penetrate directly inwards but rather lit everything with a soft glow.

Finally, he couldn't watch her struggle with words any longer. This was, after all, almost a perfect conversation to lead into what he'd wanted to ask her in the first place. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that: I know you've wanted us to stay private, and so I've always complied. And if you can't explain why all of a sudden it bothers you that we do, well, I won't ask you to. But I love you, Titania. I realize this is a terribly unromantic way of putting it, but…" He sat up, taking her hand a little formally, and asked, "Would you like to get married?"

His heart sank a little at her face, as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened in obviously total surprise. But immediately it changed, to a strangely frightened but somehow hopeful expression, as if she couldn't quite believe that she'd heard what she wanted: satisfaction took over. "Not just for convenience, either. I mean, obviously if we get married then we can be as public as you like about our affections for one another. But…on a purely romantic note, I think we're meant to be together."

She nodded slowly, as if still a little bit in disbelief. In the back of his mind, Rhys thought that perhaps she was shocked at his forwardness. And to be fair, he usually wasn't the one who took the reins, not in their relationship or anywhere else. Being considered mild-mannered had definite drawbacks, but one of the perks was that you surprised people when you did or said something daring. "Well, yes, of course. Yes, let's do," she finally said, sounding totally bemused. "But I'm older than you—"

"By about four years, for heaven's sake."

"—and it won't be very long before I can't fight any more—"

"That's okay, I'll still be able to heal."

"—and I certainly won't be able to have any kids—"

"Not unless we adopt them, which we could."

"—and we'll finally have to tell your parents about us—"

"Titania," he said gently, feeling a little impatient. She stopped. "Stop giving me all your objections. You said yes."

"Yes, of course I said yes," she answered, softening. "I love you, too. I just… I don't want you to be stuck with me forever if you don't want to, that's all."

Rhys wanted to laugh aloud but managed to nobly stifle it. "Oh, dear… That may just be the silliest objection I've heard yet, love. You might be older, but think about it. I may not live another ten years, with my health."

"Don't say that," she said instantly, and for a moment he saw her lip tremble. _Oh, no_, he thought, with a faint surprise. _She's much more upset about this than I thought_.

"All right," he said, very gently. "But all I meant is that I've already thought of all those things. I just want you. And as long as I'm alive I know I won't let you want for anything… if that's even something you were worried about. If you'd still like to have children, we can ask around and see if any orphans have been found recently. My parents will be overjoyed, they love you. There are no real reasons."

There was a short silence, and finally she sniffled and beamed, sitting up and throwing her arms around him. "You're right. I'm being silly. Let's get married." Titania paused, and drew away, squinting at him. "Are you allowed to do that?"

Rhys opened his mouth, then stopped. "Um…" The truth was, he didn't really know. Mist and a couple other clerics had gotten married in the last few years, but to date he didn't know any priests who had. After the fall of the Begnion senate, there hadn't really been any hierarchy for priests to turn to. And while he remembered that marriage and sexual liaisons had been strongly discouraged when he was first in training, he also faintly remembered it only having been discouraged _between_ priests. "Sure. Yes. I don't know why I shouldn't be allowed. Who's going to say I'm not, anyway? You're the commander."

She laughed; it had only been a question of curiosity. They embraced once more and kissed briefly, affectionately but with too much excitement to have it last long. "Oh, I'll have to tell Mist when I see her…" Titania said after they parted, fussing with her hair distractedly, evidently trying to pull it back into its normal braid. "It'll be another excuse to go shopping with her."

"That's the spirit," he said, laughing. "But I didn't really—"

"_Rhyyyyyys!_" The interruption of a cheerful female voice, coupled with energetic pounding, startled them both. "Rhys, are you awake!? I need your help!"

"Speak of the devil," Titania gasped, clutching her heart in mock alarm.

Rhys laughed, as Mist continued to pound on the door. "Rhys, would you get up!? I can't find Titania, do you know where she is?"

Titania snorted in mirth, burying her face in the covers to muffle the sound. Rhys cleared his throat. "Thanks for the wake-up call, Mist. And for the heart attack."

There was a giggle. "Sorry. But… Titania promised me that we'd practice sparring today! We haven't had a chance for so long, and now that we've got some leisure time I thought we could use the Knights' courtyard! She's not in her room, do you know where she is?!"

"She knows perfectly well I'm in here," Titania whispered. "She's trying to embarrass you. And me. I can't believe I forgot: I did promise to spar with her…"

He shook his head, reaching down to the floor to find a tunic. "I'm sure she remembers, Mist. She probably just ran off to talk with someone and got distracted." There was another semi-hysterical snort from the bedclothes, and he continued, "Try her room again, maybe she's back now."

"Okay," said Mist's voice, as blithely cheerful as ever. "How are you feeling this morning, Rhys?"

"I feel just fine, Mist, thank you. If you let me put on some clothes, I can come out there and we can have a real conversation about it, you know."

There was another burst of high-pitched giggling, this time gleeful and immensely entertained. "Hee hee… no, that's all right. Okay, I'm going to go see if I can find Titania again! 'Bye!"

Titania managed to keep in her laughter for another moment, until Mist's footsteps had receded down the hallway, and then let her mirth explode, face bright pink. "I'd better go," she finally said, gulping for air, "before she comes back again." She threw her arms around Rhys once more, and he felt his ribs creak as she hugged him tightly. "I love you. I'll tell Mist, if you don't mind, and then we can tell everyone else together. Later, maybe at dinner."

"Okay," he answered, pleased. She slid out of the bed, quickly pulling on shirt, corset, trousers, and boots. "Don't worry about anything. Anything at all. I'll see you later, after the promotion ceremony."

She smiled wordlessly, beautifully, for a moment as radiant as the dawn, the lines around her mouth barely visible, and dashed out the door. Rhys was tempted to follow suit, but immense laziness finally won out, and he laid back down. He would probably need the energy as the day went on; and anyway, Kieran would probably wake him up before long. _That turned out perfectly_, was the last thing he consciously remembered thinking, before falling back to sleep.


	4. Oscar Hates Training Recruits

In case you haven't yet guessed yet, I was an Army brat. My favorite Dastardly Archrival stories involve the Royal Knights, simply because that's the way I best understand Oscar and Kieran's personalities… oh, and Kieran's archrivally glee. Army logic just makes _sense _to me in terms of their history.

So, enjoy!…er, if you can, what with the length and all. (I'M SORRY I READ TOO MUCH DIANA GABALDON) It's a couple months after the last chapter and yes... I _was_ imagining Captain Li during Kieran's, ahem, sweatier scenes. Yay, Disney crushes!

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~~ Oscar Hates Training Recruits ~~

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As I approached the group, a young lieutenant looked up into the face of fury: his lips were white and almost quivering in concentration, his spine stiffer than a tent pole. "Do you have any idea," said his commander, their noses almost touching, "just how fast you would die in a real battle, Lieutenant Joram?" A drop of blood fell silently from the lieutenant's chin to his bare shoulder. I joined the ranks silently.

There was a pause, in which every other young man and woman on the parade ground obviously quailed, hoping never to be in this boy's shoes. After all, anyone could suddenly lose a grip on their weapon during a sparring round and injure himself.

Finally, the lieutenant shouted, obviously with all his might, "No, sir!"

The general looked up, fierce brown eyes scanning the ranks. Shirtless, he stepped away from the poor boy, who almost sank to the ground in relief. "All right!" shouted the commander, swinging his poleax one-handed. "Since the Lieutenant decided to demonstrate complete idiocy in the face of what could have been mortal peril, we'll all be running another mile around the perimeter of the castle! Everyone, drop your weapons and armor right here, right now! Move, move, _move_!"

There was a flurry of movement as all the soldiers hastily began stripping off their armor and dropping their weapons. "And I don't want to see any of those axes, lances, or swords buried in the ground! Stow your gear properly!" was the general's last admonishment, before he strode over to me and threw his axe on top of his own armor.

I was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud: but as a soldier, I knew better. Kieran eyed me for a minute, obviously still pissed off and in hard core battle-training mode. He said briefly, "You'd better go with us, Captain." I nodded; my armor had been off as soon as the recruits started stripping, and as I stowed my lance to go run a mile, one last thought prevailed: this was possibly the best decision I'd ever made.

* * *

"Okay. That's it. I have _finally_ found something you're good at that I absolutely cannot do," I said, without preamble, and slammed the door behind me. The whoosh of cold night air that followed me in blew a few papers off the commander's desk, but I didn't feel even the slightest bit embarrassed. "You are now free to gloat."

Kieran looked up, one hand freezing in the act of massaging his temples. Glaring, he demanded, "Excuse me, who gave you permission to storm into my office, Captain? I am in the middle of extremely important submission papers that are due insanely soon, and disturbances are extremely unwelcome."

I glared right back, planting my hands on the edge of his desk. It had been a hellacious morning, and I was in no mood for Bureaucratic!Kieran. "Sir. General Kieran. Your Eminence, O Great Archrival, and all the antecedents. Have you even _seen_ the group of recruits that I'm supposedly in the middle of training? I have had it _up to here_ with them and unless you stop your papers right now and pay attention to what I'm saying, I hereby resign from the Royal Knights."

My fury was so evident that even he paused. The hand dropped to the table, and as I tried to stop my chest from heaving too frantically, he leaned back and threw down his pen. "What are you talking about, Oscar?"

I struggled for a moment, standing straight and looking around in an attempt to get back my calm. This room had vastly changed in the last fifteen years: in Geoffrey's day it had been neat stacks of paper everywhere, a tapestry or two hanging on the walls, a rack of lances in the corner. Now it was a whirlwind of Kieran's ragmatag possessions, camp supplies stacked on top of old laces and armor, inexplicable sheaves of paper sticking out from underneath broken axes and tins of saddle polish. His desk was no better: instead of the relative order of Geoffrey's studies, it was littered with half-written notices, splotches of ink on torn-up blotters, bits of junk that Kieran's students would bring him, and other varied pieces of memorabilia from past campaigns.

The total chaos, for once, was inimitably soothing, and I took a deep breath. I needed to speak my piece. Ever since Kieran's promotion, the departure of the Greil Mercenaries from Melior, and my subsequent posting to the training grounds, my life had been a living hell. I was not a leader, and I knew it.

"As I said…this group of recruits is the rowdiest, most disobedient, rudest, most horrifying group of young men and women I have ever encountered. They make my brother Boyd look thoughtful and timid, and if I have to train them for one more day…" I paused again, inhaling through my nose. It was unlike me to get this worked up: I wanted to rip off my helmet and throw it at the wall, kick a door until it had dents. "They've already gotten two horses injured, they've scared three of the servants out of their wits, and I have yet to get them to march in formation. Either I'm terrible at this, or they're simple untrainable."

Kieran grinned at me. "Ha! No recruit is untrainable."

"Not for you." I paused to let the words sink in, and waved a hand over his desk. "Kieran, I didn't want this job in the first place, and you know it. Hire a secretary for a day and help me train these devils."

The grin grew wider, and he leapt up from his chair. The relief that sank into me, as he began expostulating on finally besting his archrival at something, was almost physical: my shoulders and back immediately felt less tense. He didn't quite dance around the room, but his expression was enough. "Ha ha! Finally, my chance to show that I best you, Oscar! I accept your offer, on the caveat that you find me a secretary immediately!" Pacing the room, he muttered something about "squinty" and "unworthy," then finished with a "wretch." I could have kissed him.

Finally turning to me again, he braced his hands on his hips and declared, "This will be a week to remember."

"I certainly hope so."

Kieran paused, eyeing me. "To be perfectly truthful, my squinty friend…" he began, then grinned and came to me. "Hell. I've been going mad, absolutely mad, trying to catch up to where I should be in all this bureaucratic nonsense. This is the perfect excuse I've been looking for to get out of the office, get in some good field work. You know that most of the time this archrival ridiculousness is… well, it's just that."

He'd put his hand on my shoulder, and I stared at him, not sure what to say. Kieran, suddenly declaring that this archrival business was nonsense? This would be the first time in going on twenty years. "Kieran…"

He stopped me immediately, to my chagrin relieving me, by adding fiercely, "Mind you, I'll be holding you accountable for finishing their training, after I get some discipline instilled. And you'll be the one filing a report about why I'm gallivanting off to the training grounds tomorrow morning. We'll have this settled properly."

"Yes, sir," I said, warmly. That hadn't lasted long, but it was just as well. I loved my archrival as exactly that.

"Speaking of which, how early have you been getting them up?"

I shrugged. "First light, as usual. Don't worry, they're in their version of formation five minutes before roll call." Not that they ever did roll call properly…

"Ha!" he said, mockingly, and turned away to start grabbing things. "Get up an hour before dawn, and have the papers ready to send on to General Geoffrey. I'll be there."

"Yes, sir," I said again.

* * *

It had all begun with one recruit, but then usually that's all it took, in my experience. I didn't even know his name at first; later the epithet Teddy, given to him by another, more amused knight, stuck with me rather than his true name, Joram. He was anything _but_ a Teddy: brash and poor, from a rough port near Gallia, he'd early learned that the Royal Knights didn't conscript soldiers unless they had a need for them. Honorable or not, our conscriptions were by necessity. Hence, a young, relatively ballsy soldier could get away with any amount of mischief and mayhem if he or she was so inclined: given the right commander, that is.

I, to my own great self-disgust and chagrin, was exactly the kind of commander under whom soldiers like Teddy flourished. The first day of training, he'd immediately placed me.

"Lieutenant!" I said sternly, walking down the ill-organized ranks, and stopped before him. "Talking is not permitted in the ranks."

He remained silent, staring at me, no hint whatsoever evident of the "face-forward, eyes-up" instruction all of them had been given. I wasn't stupid enough to fall for his first trick. "The no-talking rule excludes when your commanding officer has given you an instruction to speak, Lieutenant." There was a tiny sigh from someone nearby: it sounded disappointed, as if they'd expected me to demand why he wasn't speaking. "_Lieutenant_. Your response, when spoken to by a commanding officer, should always be, 'Yes, sir.'"

"Yes… sir," he said, the emphasis on the second word drippingly obvious. Eyes finally facing forward, his back was a ramrod, his posture composed of total precision. Yet another one of the soldiers giggled; I turned to her.

For a moment she managed to hold it in; then she couldn't resist from glancing at me, and her face broke as she giggled again. I pushed between two soldiers in the first row and stood before her. "And you are laughing… why, Lieutenant?"

"No reason whatsoever… sir," she managed to say, snorting slightly as she spoke the title. Another knight—and yet another, damn them!—started snorting madly along with her, one turning her face away. "I apologize… sir."

An unsure feeling flooded through me: I wasn't used to worrying about what people thought of me, but the idea of being in charge of… all these recruits… suddenly bore down. What if I couldn't get control of them?

I stepped back in front of the formation and given them their orders: stand at attention until approved, then proceed to the mess hall. The temptation of behaving for food was usually pretty high, for recruits. With breakfast served immediately after dawn, and the hard work of polishing tack and armor spaced evenly between the two meals, lunch was always the break point of the day.

Yet as I stood, wanting but unable to fidget, I kept seeing movement in the ranks. Someone would shift, just enough so that I could see it, and uniform immobility would return; then a second later, another soldier nearby would do the same, returning to perfect stance before I could pick out his or her identity. It was unbearable and, worse yet, completely unavoidably noticeable. There was clearly something going on.

I sighed. Tempting as it was to leave them standing here to boil in the midday sun, while their lunches rotted in the mess, I just couldn't. It was only the first day of training, after all: I would win their respect eventually. "Dismissed!" Only a few cheered. The rest just grinned as they broke formation and ran out of the courtyard.

That had been my first mistake. Mercy.

It only grew worse from there. A few of the recruits had been wanting to get into the Royal Knights for years, but had been unable to join due to family troubles, poverty, lack of ability to travel, or various other reasons. Some had joined recruit classes but had been turned away, unqualified. Conscription by the Royal Knights in wartime was an extremely old and honored tradition, bestowing all kinds of graces on the families selected. Yet somehow these young men and women felt it more of a burden than a blessing.

Some of the more respectful soldiers came forward to speak with me, and it was then that I found out why the epithet "sir" gave everyone the giggles: it conveniently began with the same consonant as "squinty", and Teddy had made some rather entertaining comments about that connection their very first night in Melior. My new (if not terribly original) title was firmly implanted in everyone's brain, like it or not.

"I didn't think it was particularly funny," said one recruit stubbornly, glaring on my behalf at the papers on my desk. She looked up at me, but I noticed she immediately looked away. _Dammit_. "I don't know why they all keep laughing, but it's not going to stop anytime soon."

I'd thanked her and dismissed her, the gratitude at having found out the first hurdle tempered by confusion at how to actually tackle it. If Teddy and his friends though mockery of their commanding officer would give them leeway to run all over the place, they were dead wrong. Still…

The problem was, I decided, there was no way to threaten them. Insubordination amongst Royal Knights was unheard of, simply because they had worked so hard and committed so much to becoming one of the army's elite. If a soldier was deemed insubstantial to his or her unit due to behavioral problems, they were court-martialed and either punished or (more often than not) dishonorably discharged.

Here, it wasn't quite as crucial. The young soldiers had been plucked from their villages willy-nilly, and while many of them had no desire to go back, neither did they feel particularly honored. The glories that could be gained in the army were immense, yet its lifestyle was not for all. The bitterness of some at only being able to join through conscription was obvious: but the greatest problem of all was that none of them had any sense of the real world.

Kieran had told me of the conscription classes from during the war against the Goddess. The real and tangible danger of the Begnions' invasion of Crimea had made the recruits sensible that the Knights were their best option. How could their families defend themselves without the army? They might as well better themselves for the good of the country. Yet this bickering between the nobles and the army, the constant skirmishing from the rebels, and the overall confusion of the country, had not only led to chaotic political alliances but turbulent civilian loyalties, as well. I sensed that not one of the recruits really had a cause for which to fight.

* * *

So it was with heavy heart that I came to the next formation. We'd been practicing weapons drills, and I wouldn't have minded my recruits' inefficiency if I hadn't known it was for simply _not trying._ "Shoulder arms!" I barked, feeling wholly inadequate to the task of being fearsome.

Several recruits actually followed the order, crisply raising their weapons; many others vaguely brought them up. One or two didn't bother at all. "Shoulder arms!" I yelled, louder this time. "That was not an option!"

I heard a couple of sighs, but finally everyone obeyed, if somewhat lackadaisically. Where, oh where, was my sergeant? I had a drill sergeant scheduled to join me for practices such as this, just as I had a priest assigned to me for healing during sparring, but said sergeant was off somewhere, probably fighting rebels or signing papers for the royals, or something else completely unrelated to my problems. The army was so unbearably short-staffed that most of the time she didn't even oversee training exercises.

Still, they'd shouldered their weapons. All right, next move. "Four, three, two, one. Mark time… mark!" The order, given in a specific metric time, was meant to get them marching. Ideally, I would have had my sergeant clapping his or her hands, or someone beating a drum to keep time. Here, it was just me. I could see many of the soldiers actually keeping time… left, right, left, right… but many weren't bothering to keep in time with the beat I was clapping, and a few—Teddy included, naturally—were just standing still, yawning into their shoulders.

A note of desperation began to enter the alarm bells ringing in my brain. We were due to ride out with the army in less than a month, and we hadn't even gotten to the basics of horsemanship yet, much less sparring, defense, the weapons triangle, briefings on the enemy, or managing to keep in time with fellow soldiers.

I swallowed down my fears and doubts (_why, Goddesses, why did Geoffrey give me this job instead of someone else?!)_ and marched over to Teddy. "Lieutenant," I said, trying to stay calm, "give me one good reason why you haven't obeyed my order to begin marking time."

"Because it's pointless. Sir," he added, obviously as an afterthought, but without any emphasis whatsoever.

I ignored him for a moment, and in time to the beat, shouted, "Company… halt!" In two steps, many of the footsteps I heard crunching on the gravel stopped, quite in time. Pleasure that some had actually obeyed me aside, I was still pissed. "And can you explain to me, Lieutenant, exactly why learning to work as a team is pointless?"

He shrugged; every eye was on the two of us. "Well, we won't be marching, will we, sir? We'll be on horses."

A few chuckles and murmurs were heard. Confusingly enough, some part of my brain said, _Well, yes, we will._ Angrily, I answered, "Your possessing a horse, Lieutenant, is entirely contingent on your learning basic training techniques."

It dawned upon me for a moment that there had to be a better way to approach this than reasoning with an enlisted troop member. Somehow, though, no alternate approaches occurred to me, and as he spoke, I could only vaguely look at him. Not a bad-looking boy, after all: well-built, in the rangy way of paladins, and almost as tall as me. "And basic techniques for mounted units like us include marching… why?"

For a moment I didn't even realize that he hadn't bothered to address me as "sir." Only his words came through, and that stupid little part of my brain panicked again, wondering, _Good point, why do we teach marching_? In my own training days I'd wondered the same thing: I frantically tried to recall what Geoffrey and Renning had explained to us… I knew it was because you couldn't fight on a horse before you fought on foot, but how to explain it...?

Fury overtook everything. I was normally a very calm, collected person—amused coolness, rather than irrational anger, was usually my primary reaction to frustration. But there was so much at risk here. If these bandits and rebels ever succeeded in joining together and attacking the castle as an organized unit, killing the queen or somehow disabling the Royal Knights… Crimea was done for.

"That's _it!_" I shouted, and saw more than a few of the knights-in-training start in surprise. "Lieutenant. Report immediately to the barracks supervisor. You will spend all of tomorrow in the stocks for insubordinance and obstruction of your superior's orders."

There was a short, breathless pause. Then he shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "Yes, sir." And the boy everyone called Teddy stepped out of line, dropping his weapon to the ground at my feet, and made a casual beeline for the barracks. I stood, almost stunned, at his calm obedience.

It didn't last long. "Well, if he's going to be punished for questioning stupid orders, why shouldn't we all?" shouted an angry voice from the back. A young girl stepped forward: she couldn't have been older than about fifteen, and my dazed mind wondered who was in charge of impressments these days. Violet eyes flashing, she yelled directly into my face. "I think your orders are stupid, too, and if Teddy's going to be punished, so am I!" She threw her axe at my legs and fled in the same direction as had her co-knight.

I didn't jump back, half for being completely stunned and the other half for simple pride; the axe clanged off my armor and fell with a thump in the dust. I knew better than to think it had been a malicious act: the weapon was practically half her size.

A silence descended. I looked around at the troops; more than one pair of eyes dark with displeasure greeted me, and I shouted, "If any of you are unhappy with the idea of blindly obeying your superior's training orders, then leave now for the barracks! If not, stay in formation!"

* * *

And that had been the second mistake: to trust that only a couple of knights would be so idiotic. Almost half of the assembled youngsters had mumbled and trudged off towards the barracks: far too many to discipline properly. I'd half-heartedly led the more devoted knights through a pitifully ineffective marching exercise, and then had dismissed them for the evening. Retiring to my chambers, it didn't escape me that recruitment and training problems weren't the only items on my list of woes.

The simple fact was, being separated from Kieran so completely was disheartening and frankly destructive. In the Greil Mercenaries there had always been something to do, someone to save, a goal to concentrate on. Beyond that, I had had my brothers to worry about. Until just before I had returned to the Mercenaries, even Boyd had been something of a bother, intelligent but hardly a planner, worried more about training for an upcoming fight than about where his next meal might come from.

After that, there had always been Kieran. My friend, my laugh-out-loud companion, my inexorable competitor in all things inane, and my sometime lover, he'd kept me sane through the rigors of returning to a slightly unwelcoming army, the difficulties of adjusting once more to the Royal Knights creed, and the horrors of large-scale battle in the name of justice. It wasn't that he solved my problems: it was merely that if I talked to Kieran about something serious, the problem either vanished in the wake of bigger fish, or I could completely forget about it, in one way or another.

Since we'd returned to Melior for the last time, though, things had been totally and insufferably different. He hated his job and I obviously couldn't handle mine. Plus we never saw one another.

I flopped onto my bed, feeling the varied knots of wool that had been stuffed into the mattress, many captains ago. Well, this was going to end soon. I couldn't command these recruits on my own, and there was only person I could reliably turn to. Someone who knew how to train recruits, how to intrinsically command respect, and how to help me…without making me look like a totally inept dolt.

* * *

Now I grinned to myself as we ran our laps around the training grounds. My heart might have been pounding in exertion—truth be told, Kieran and I were both getting a little old for this—and my breath may have been coming short, but I couldn't stop laughing silently, every time he barked an order.

The first day had gone spectacularly. Kieran had woken me more than an hour before dawn by bursting straight through my doorway, and from there had proceeded to direct me as _his_ sergeant. Screaming "WAKE UP!" at the top of my lungs, I jogged up and down the barracks, yanking off blankets as I went. Half of the recruits, terrified and confused, leapt out of bed and begun pulling on their boots. The other half—the recruits who'd followed Joram out of formation—just rolled over.

"Your commanding officer gave you an order!" I yelled as loudly as possible, and reached into one bunk to slap someone's head. "GET UP!"

They vaguely began acquiescing, mumbling to themselves, not bothering now to hide the epithet Sir Squinty. That is, until Kieran stepped through the doorway.

I doubt many of them had ever met a general before in their lives: none of them had yet been issued armor from the supply grounds, so the closest they'd been to such a highly polished officer had been myself. Yet somehow, even in the half-dark of the barracks, without a word, Kieran managed to silence the entire line of recruits. The mumbling stopped, and even the most rebellious among them started pulling on clothing.

"Be in front of this building in parade formation in _five minutes_ or you'll have hell to pay, young soldiers," was all he said, and left, taking his gleaming medals with him.

After a stunned moment of silence I barked, "You heard the general! Move!"

Kieran had told me not to stay behind, and it worked. Within five minutes they'd all dragged themselves outside, in various stages of dress, some with weapons and some without. And within another five minutes, I found out more about conduction of parade formation and inspection than I'd ever learned in my whole career. He didn't stand and talk at them: glaring fiercely, almost malevolently, he swept the formation one soldier at a time, barking insults and direction equally, not hesitating to physically adjust what he found unfit.

Finally returning to my side, everyone in place, the great general Kieran shouted, "It has been brought to my attention that approximately a score of you decided to abandon your posts yesterday. If you were out waging war this would be called going AWOL, and you would be executed. However, I have decided that those of you who are ringleaders will spend this afternoon cleaning bird shit from your barracks and from the grounds buildings. You and everyone else will go without lunch or dinner today. Is my purpose clear?"

"Yes, sir!" answered abut fifteen soldiers.

Kieran walked directly up to Joram, not bothering to hide his ire (he wasn't good at it anyway), and socked him in the stomach. There was a collective gasp as the boy fell to the ground, gagging for air. "I _said!_" he shouted, looking around. "Is it in _any way_ unclear why you are being punished for disobeying your superior officer?"

"No, sir!" Many more responded this time.

What followed was the most grueling twenty-four hours of my life, including my conditioning as a new recruit: of course, I had twenty years on these kids, so I had an excuse. But by sundown, those who hadn't eaten were gasping and blue-faced as we ran miles; those who had spent the boiling hot afternoon cleaning the side of the barracks looked ready to collapse as Kieran directed us in fitness and speed drills.

At one point, he'd actually frightened one of the more diligent recruits into approaching me: "You may be tortured!" he'd been yelling, and had proceeded to show us scars from Ashunera only knew when. "You may be knifed in your sleep or have rusty nails shoved under your fingernails, along with the normal battle wounds! You must be prepared to see your first blood!"

The recruit who'd snuck to my office at night had been the same who'd come to me even before Joram's first rebellion: with her were four others, all with expressions ranging from nervousness to naked fear. "Er, Captain?" she'd asked. "General Kieran isn't… he's not actually planning to torture us… is he?"

I'd wanted to laugh out loud, but evidently the possibility didn't seem so remote to them. I'd assured the group that he wouldn't, to their immense relief. "Thank the goddesses," the girl had said faintly. "We… we all want nothing more than to make you and the general proud, but we're not sure we could cope with torture quite yet."

There were questions, of course. Not so many as had been posed or yelled to me, naturally, but at one point the question was repeated. Upon being given the command of "Mark time, mark!" and ignoring the order, the young violet-eyed lass, Amira, insolently asked Kieran the same question Joram had demanded of me.

"So why do we need to learn foot drills, sir?" Her tone was perfectly respectful, much more so than it had been with me, but I knew she was going to get her comeuppance just the same. "If we'll be spending our time on a horse, why do we—_oof_!"

Kieran had, once again, hit her: but this time much more impressively. Unlike with Joram, where he'd simply drawn back and punched, with this tiny girl he'd executed a neat grab for her lance, smacked her in the head with it, and thrust her to the ground with the lance at her throat. Even I was impressed: I hadn't seen Kieran use anything but an axe or a sword since our dual time in the Mercenaries, and hadn't known he was so good with my own weapon.

"Because," he said, not shouting but with a voice that rang across the formation nonetheless, "you must learn to walk before you run. Because if you have no discipline, no strength, force, or swiftness, you cannot walk the path of a Royal Knight. If you don't learn to hit still targets, how will you ever handle those that move?" Pausing, he said darkly, "How will you control a panicky, moving animal and fight at the same time if you never learn to control the panicky animal within yourself, Lieutenant Amira?"

I smiled: one of our recruit class's mottos had been "You must first walk the path of Peace before you can hope to survive the path of War." Suggesting that control of inner turmoil was the key to success in battle, the motto had been immensely useful to those among us without any semblance of self-control—the perfect example being the self-proclaimed Great Knight standing before us.

Throwing down the lance at the girl's side, Kieran added, somewhat negligently, "I don't expect any of you to be perfect. But if you can't obey orders, then for the goddess's sake go home and tend your crops. The rest of us will be along to defend your families, if we find it worthwhile." And with that, he'd ordered everyone up and we'd run some more miles.

Now, on the fourth day of training with the General, the difference in the recruits was unmistakable. Not only did they immediately obey every order given to them, but they questioned nothing—not even coming from me—and recited back long chunks of dogma, working their minds and bodies to the limit. I'd had a priest on hand this morning for sparring, and he'd gotten quite a workout in terms of small injuries, healing those who'd been defeated by their partners.

Nothing had compared, of course, to Joram stabbing himself in the head this afternoon, spurring this very mile we were running. I'd had to absent myself from the field when Joram had fallen to the ground, for fear my laughter would be heard by Kieran (how many times had he done _exactly_ that?) as he screamed at the lieutenant. Despite my bone-deep weariness, I felt a faint and fragile hope that this recruit class might be the best ever, and for the first time looked forward to writing to my brother and leaving out absolutely nothing.

* * *

The mile eventually ran itself out, and the soldiers held themselves upright for another ten minutes as Kieran had them recite the seven virtues of a Royal Knight. Many could barely gasp out the words, but I felt a sudden pride stab my heart as Joram drew himself up and shouted louder than anyone else.

"What is the Royal Knight's duty?" shouted Kieran. He himself looked fresh as a daisy—or perhaps his flushed complexion just hid it well—and his voice was just as vigorous as ever.

"Defend Crimea!" came back the roar.

"How does a Royal Knight defend Crimea?"

"With strength and honor!"

With that he held them at attention, looking to me calmly. I was panting as hard as the least among them: yet somehow I, too, felt the compunction to control myself as I gazed over the troops. Nary a movement among them. Finally, I yelled, "Reform five minutes after mess… Dis_missed_!"

There was no cheer, but no groans, either: just a soft sigh of content, as everyone picked up their armor and weapons to stow before dinner. I stood in pace beside Kieran as they left, and as the last soldier left the field, I let my shoulders slump, letting out a huge breath.

His first word to me wasn't formal, or even terribly dignified: "Ha!" he exclaimed triumphantly, punching me on the shoulder. "I think that should do it, eh?"

I groaned. "Goddesses alive, Kieran… to get them this far is a miracle! They'll have to make it all the way now."

"Best recruit class yet," he said, without a hint of either braggadocio or shame. "I think you'll be able to handle them now."

"I should certainly hope so." Both of us bent to get our gear, and we silently began moving towards the mess hall. As a rule, officers ate last when training was in full swing, since we could go find food elsewhere if it ran out. I became aware, as we walked, that both of us were still only half-clad, practically steaming from our exertions. It had been a long time since I'd seen quite this much of Kieran up close.

He caught me looking at him, and grinned. "Are you kidding me? Every eye in this place is going to be fixed on you starting tomorrow, squinty."

"I know, I know," I protested, and sighed. The ground tilted, and as we strode up the hill my hamstrings sang out in pain. "I can't help it. Are we ever going to get an inch of privacy again?"

He considered. I loved that look: Kieran, trying to be pensive and totally failing. He always just looked angry. "Well, I thought we were done for back when… you know. You did that kissing thing in front of everyone… and then showed up in my room and made me go to bed with you…"

"You were _dying_!" I yelled, but laughingly. "Come on, do we have to go over that again?"

"I am _just_ saying!" he yelled right back. "If we never get an inch of privacy again, it's your fault, you negligent, ignorant, imbecilic, accursed romantic!"

I laughed at this classically half-insulting string of curses, and as we came to a halt by the door to the mess hall—the buzz of exhausted yet contented soldiers came from within—a swell came over my heart. It didn't matter right now, really, and I said as much. "Besides. Once these recruits are trained, I'm putting in a request to head out with them. There's no new conscriptions coming in, after all."

"No," he agreed. "General Geoffrey has told me he'll be moving out all the new soldiers within the month, if not sooner." And Kieran grinned, looking furtively around the doorway. Startling me unduly, he leaned forward and kissed me full on the mouth quickly. As I stood gaping in surprise, he added, "I'll probably be commanding all of you idiots, anyway! Come on!"

And with that, he strode into the mess hall, tugging on his shirt as he went. I shook my head, following him in. How could a man be at once brash and unsubtle as a tiger, yet surprisingly mysterious as the moon? Kieran was the Royal Knights in a nutshell.


End file.
